The smell of Roses
by DreamsofPurpleRoses
Summary: His whole short life, Harry Potter never once got the chance to just stop and smell the roses. Now, in his final moments,he reflects on his life and says his last goodbyes to those roses he never got to admire. One shot


**This is another oneshot I had in mind. I just popped into my head so wrote it. Hope you enjoy. Read and Review:) Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?:D**

**If you have any complaints feel free to tell me. As I said, it was just an idea that I decided to write. Probably not my best work, but I would like to hear( or i guess in this case, see) you opinions.**

**Rated T for character death**

Harry Potter lay on a white hospital bed in a prestine white room, breathing hard. He was in St. Mungos, where he had been staying for the past three hours. The Healers hadn't let his friends come and see him yet, and for that he was thankful. Everything hurt. The pain coursed through him, eating away at his very being. Talking didn't seem like an opition at the moment.

He hadn't expected it. But then again, who could? Not many people expect their morning pumpkin juice to be to poisoned. One sip was all it had took for the poison to take affect. Harry had fallen out of his seat in the Great Hall and had begun screaming bloody murder, blood dribbling from his mouth. Madme Promfey, the school nurse had tried her hand in healing him, but when his condition had only steadily worsened, he had been taken to where he was now.

Harry knew he was dying. The nurses and Healers didn't have to say it for him to know. The truth was written all over their faces. They were worried, and sad, for he was the boy-who-lived, the chosen one, the future savior of the wizarding world, and it seemed as though he was going to be fallen by something as simple as a poisoned glass of pumpkin juice. It was really quite a pitiful way to die.

But in truth, Harry really didn't mind. The fact that Voldemort had went as low as poisoning him didn't bother him in the slightest. Although he did wish the Dark Lord had picked a slightly less painful potion to get the job done. The fire that was coursing through his veins hurt immensely, and it was making it hard to be relieved.

You may be wondering why Harry Potter would be somewhat happy that he was dying. The answer was simple. Harry was tired. Tired of everyone's high expectations of him, tired of the constant throbbing of his scar. He was only sixteen, yet thousands of people looked to him for reassurance that everything would be okay. They expected him to swoop in and save the day everytime something went wrong. The pressure was getting to him. He had thought more than once on the opition of killing himself. But he knew that would devistate the Wizarding World to no end, for they would think they never had any hope at all.

But if he was killed...well, that was a bit different. They would be sad, of course, but they would also say how brave and noble he was, and that he died with diginaty. And after the grieving was over, they would find another poor soul to throw all their worries to, and Harry would be able to rest in peace. Because that is all that he really wanted. Peace and quiet. His life had been hell ever since Voldemort had made him an orphan. If he died...well he imagined wherever he went would be calm. And besides, he would be able to see Sirius again. He would be able to feel the warmth of his God father's hugs and be loved...He gave a small smile. Just to be loved again would make all this pain worthwhile.

So he had turned a deaf ear to the Healers who tried to assure him that everything would be okay. He knew they were lying and that was fine with him. Let them hold onto hope for a little while longer.

The Healers and nurses had left his room not too long ago, saying that he just needed some alone time to relax and wait until his friends were let inside. He liked it this way. He was all alone, left with his thoughts. As he was sure he was alone and would be for a bit longer, he retreated into his mind to find the very person who had put him in his current condition. He knew Voldemort would be lurking around in his head, waiting to see him die.

"Hello, Tom." He said to the empty room. He felt the presence in his mind shift a bit.

An image of the Dark Lord appeared in his mind. It gave a small smirk. "Hello, Harry. Did you enjoy your pumpkin juice this morning?"

"I did, in fact. Quite tasty. Although I can't say I liked the after taste." He always did appreciate the back and forths that he and Voldemort always had.

The Voldemort in his mind seemed to stare at him for a bit. "Why did you contact me, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Perhaps I just wanted to have a little conversation with the man who finally succeded in killing the boy-who-lived."

Voldemort frowned. "You're not dead yet, boy. I have no doubt that you will find some highly complicated antidote and live to see another day." Harry shook his head slowly, his eyes just a bit sad. "But what if I don't want to live."

To this, the Voldemort in his head looked curious. "Then I would want to know why that is."

Harry knew he had caught the Dark Lord's attention. "You'll have to come visit me at my sickbed to find out."

Voldemort looked midly shocked. "And why would I do that? Better yet, why would you want me to?" Harry was going to answer, but it was at that moment that another wave of pain hit him, making him moan. His stomach lurched around inside of him.

Through the pain, he managed a few words. "Don't...you want to see...me die with your...own eyes?" The Dark Lord considered the dying boy, then nodded. "Very well."

The image in his mind disappeared, and in a swirl of dark shadows, the real Voldemort appeared at his side. The snakelike man towered over him, his red eyes boring into Harry's green ones. Harry's scar burned fiercely, bringing tears to his eyes. Harry smiled despite the pain. "Glad... you could...make it."

Voldemort scowled. "I only came so I can see the light fade from your eyes and watch as you finally, painfully, die."

"I'm so glad... you care about...me that much, Tom." Harry laughed at the look on Voldemort's face until he gripped his stomach as another flash of pain over took him.

"Don't call me by that despicable name, boy." As if in punishment, Voldemort placed one of his pale spidery fingers on Harry's scar. Harry moaned even louder, the pain from his head mixing with the pain in his stomach. It all became too much. Harry lifted himself shakily onto his elbows, turned his head, and threw up over the side of the bed. Blood splashed on the floor, for Harry had already thrown up so much that there was no food left in his stomach. He collapsed back onto the bed, panting. He moved his head to face Voldemort again.

"I think Tom is a nice name." He rasped, his throat raw, ignoring what Voldemort had just done. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's a filthy muggle name." Harry smirked despite the blood red eyes boring into him. "So you changed it to Voldemort? I'm not seeing how that's much better. I mean, just think about it. You can make fun of Voldemort so easily. Moldywart, Moldyshorts...I can't think of anything with Tom."

Voldemort just glared and changed the subject. "Why did you want me to come here? Surely you know that it was I who poisoned you."

Harry grimaced a bit as the pain reminded him of this. "You'll have to wait till everyone gets here to find out."

"Everyone?" Voldemort looked around, as if someone would suddenly pop out of the shadows.

Harry nodded. "They should be here right about...now."

The door to his room burst open and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Remus, Tonks, Kingsely Shaklebolt, and Mad-eye Moody entered. "Oh Harry," Mrs. Weasley muttered, coming towards him. " We are so sorry we couldn't come sooner...those Healers wouldn't let us in. But we're just so..." The words died in her throat as she saw who was standing by Harry's bed. Everyone in the room froze, too shocked to say anything.

Dumbledore regained himself first. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Voldemort, who took out his own wand in retaliation. Mad-eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt copied Dumbledore, glaring at Voldemort hatefully. "Step away from Harry." Dumbledore ordered.

Voldemort shook his head and took a step closer to Harry's bed. "I'm afraid I can't do that Dumbledore. You see, Harry is the one who wanted me here in the first place."

"Don't lie to me, Tom." Dumbledore said threateningly. "You've already hurt him enough by poisoning him. I will not allow you to..."

Harry cut in before Dumbledore could say anymore. "I told Voldemort to come. Now please, lower your wands. Fighting won't help anybody." Slowly, they did as they were told, still glaring.

The ones who had just entered came closer to Harry's bed, shooting untrusting glares at Voldemort. Hermione and Ron pushed their way to the very front. Hermione grabbed his hand. Harry smiled at this. He looked up into Hermione's face. She was worried. He could tell. She was doing that thing she always did when she was worried; biting her lip. She also seemed sad. Harry didn't like seeing her like that. Hermione was much too pretty to be sad. "Are you feeling okay, Harry?" She asked, her eyes alight with concern.

He lied. "Of course, Hermione. I feel fine. Nothing to worry about." She gave him a tight smile.

Dumbledore spoke, his eyes never leaving Voldemort. "Why did you want him here, Harry?"

Harry was getting a bit annoyed that Dumbledore couldn't leave well enough alone. "Voldemort is here because I want him to be here. So please just drop it." Voldemort gave a small chuckle at Dumbledore's shocked expression.

Harry spoke to the room at large. "Listen, everyone, I have something important to tell you." He paused, making sure everyone was looking at him. His eyes roved over everyone of their worried faces. "I'm not going to make it."

Immediatly the reassurences started. They told him that the tests weren't final, and that the Healers would figure something out. He raised a weak hand to silence them. He turned his head to Voldemort, who had his arms crossed, and gave him a look. Harry didn't need to say anything for Voldemort to know what Harry wanted him to do. He turned his gaze on the people oppisite him. He spoke, his voice betraying no emotion. "Potter is telling the truth. He will die."

Ron screamed and ran around the side of the bed. He launched himself at Voldemort, who was a bit shocked and only barley managed to conjure a shield spell in time. Ron pounded on the magic wall, saying words that normally would have gotten him grounded for the rest of his life, but given the circumstances, Mrs. Weasley let it slide. Ginny joined not long after, giving Voldemort a very negative finger gesture. Soon, everyone was shouting, yelling just for the sake of it. Quite a few spells were cast and more than one person was knocked to the floor. Voldemort said nothing, but growled whenever someone got too close. Harry tried to speak through the chaos, but eventually gave up and laid his head back down on the soft pillows. Another stab of pain hit him. He knew he was getting close to the end. He didn't have long. Maybe an hour at the most. Harry had been hoping to get a few final words in, just to reassure his friends that everything would be okay even after he was gone, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen.

The agruing continued as the pain got worse and worse. Would they ever stop? Or would he just die while they were screaming at one another. There rantings were silenced only when the door open again and Snape entered; his usual uncaring scowl plastered on his face. That is it was until he saw both his lord and headmaster standing in the same room. His face went pale. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort locked eyes with him. "Severus, here." They both ordered at the same time, indicating the spots next to themsevles.

Snape wasn't sure where to go. Never before had he been put in a situation like this, where he actually had to choose. He glanced at both of them, unsure of where he should stand. "Severus," Voldemort growled menacingly. Snape didn't move, trying to decide which side would be worst to betray.

Harry sighed, tired of the whole thing. "Both of you cut it out. Snape is here to help me. You can kill him after I'm dead." Dumbledore and Voldemort looked a bit affronted, but moved out of the way so Snape could get close to Harry. Snape put his hand to Harry's forehead, feeling for a temperature. Then he took out his wand and waved it over Harry's stomach, mumbling under his breath.

"How is he, Severus?" Dumbledore questioned, nervous about the answer he would recieve.

Snape shook his head, dark eyes searching Harry's. "I can't really say, Dumbledore. The poison is still going through him, mixing into his blood. The immensely painful part of the potion should kick in within the hour, or maybe..."

He stopped as Harry suddenly screamed and convulsed on the bed. Oh merlin, why did it hurt so bad? He clawed at his stomach, shrieking as his whole body was burned mercilessly. His watering eyes found Voldemort's. He begged the man to make it stop. Voldemort only shook his head slowly. Snape had been pushed aside and Remus was next to him with Tonks, telling him to be strong. Harry's back arched as it felt like a knife had just been driven through his stomach. He fell back onto the bed painfully, trying to force the horrible agony to the back of his mind, just for a bit. It worked. He still hurt, but he knew what he had to do before he died.

He reached out and grabbed Remus's arm, pulling him close. His voice was raw and raspy due to his screaming, and every word hurt, but they had to be said. "Remus...Remus, I know you tried...you tried to help me after Sirius...died. You did...a good job. I'll tell Sirius...when I see him." Tears were in the werewolf's eyes. "Thank you, Harry." He gripped Harry's hand in his own tightly, saying everything through just that touch. Harry nodded.

"Dumbledore..." He muttered. The old man came forward, blue eyes shining with sadness. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry grabbed his hand as well, feeling the age of the old wizard. "You asked too much of me..." Dumbledore's face fell a bit, and his blue eyes lost their twinkle.

"I know, Harry. I know." He nodded gravely. Another round of pain left him clutching at his stomach, groaning. Again he shoved it away. He wasn't done.

"Hermione..." Harry croaked. She knelt down next to him, looking like a bushy haired angel. Her chocolate eyes were rimmed red with tears. He motioned her to move closer so he could talk into her ear. With her this close, he could smell her perfume. She smelled of roses. "I love you..." he whispered. Hermione let out a sob. She realized it now. She had always assumed that he saw her as a sister and nothing more and that Ron had not. Her true feelings had always been to Harry, who was brave and strong and noble. To Harry, who had always been there. The fact that he was dying was like a knife through the heart. Why was it now, on the verge of his death, that Harry finally confessed what she had been wanting to hear for years? Now, that there was no way they could be together? They could have been so much more. Why hadn't he said anything?

But the answer was standing behind her. Ron. Harry had thought he could never tell her for fear of hurting his best friend. She felt fresh tears roll down her face. One thing had stood in the way. "I love you too, Harry." She whispered back. And she meant it with all her heart. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Harry's lips beforing backing away and standing next to Ron, who allowed her to let out all of her sadness onto his shoulder.

Harry did this with everyone in the room, except Voldemort. He said something to them; mostly simple little things that meant alot. When he was done, he looked to Voldemort and moved his head to the side. Rolling his eyes, knowing Potter would probably say something stupid, he leaned in close to hear what the boy had to say. After a hacking cough that made his whole body shake, Harry managed to force out the words he had called Voldemort to St. Mungos to hear. "Thank you."

Voldemort pulled his head back and stared at the boy. Potter was thanking him? For what? Then memories bombarded him.

_Harry was little, no older than eight, and he was hiding in a tiny room, skinny arms wrapped around his little knees, his face stained with tears. There were heavy footsteps outside the door and Harry flinched and hid his face as his uncle stormed into his little cupboard. The big whale of a man yanked Harry out of the tiny room and threw him to the floor. Harry tried to crawl away, but a heavy shoe connecting with his side made him fall and curl up into a ball on the carpet. There were more kicks, and a few punches, one of which hit his glasses and caused them to smash onto his face and for tiny pieces of glass to cut into his skin. The beating went on until Harry could not longer scream or move, and then the huge man finally left, leaving Harry to painfully pull himself back into his cupboard and shut the door behind him to cry himself to sleep once again..._

More memories. Little glimpses of Harry's days at school; him being insulted by Snape and laughed at by the young Malfoy boy. His Weasley friend rejecting him during the Triwirzard tornament, and the whole school thinking him a cheat. Seeing the Diggory boy die. Harry writing with a quill that caused the words to be etched onto the back of his hand while a lady to looked alot like a pink toad smiled and watched. The last one caught his attention.

_Harry was fighting off Death Eaters in the Department of Msyteries, constantly glancing up at a man who was standing very close to the veil of departed souls. Bellatrix was fighting this man, and he was laughing at her failed attempts to killed him. The smile froze on his face as a jet of green light hit him square in the chest and he fell back through the veil, disappering. Harry stopped fighting and stared, waiting for the man to appear again. When he didn't Harry screamed and ran forward, tears pouring down his face. Before he could make it, however, an arm wrapped around his chest and held him in place. "He's gone, Harry...he's gone." The person behind Harry whispered. Harry refused to accept it and he struggled fiercly, not wanting to calm down or understand what was going on. He just wanted Sirius to step out from behind that veil and join the fight again. He fought and fought, screaming Sirius's name, but his godfather did not appear..._

Then the memories ended and Voldemort was brought back to the real world. He looked at the boy in front of him in a different light. He understood. Harry was thanking him, because he had wanted to die for the longest of times, whether he would admit it to himself or not. Voldemort had finally given him what he had wanted so desperately wanted ever since his god father had died. Voldemort felt not remorse about poisoning the boy; no, Harry Potter had irked him too much in the past and a couple of sad memories couldn't change that. No, Voldemort felt pity. Pity for a boy who had been dealt an unfair hand in life, much like he had. Voldemort wanted to say something important, something worth remembering, something that would tell the boy that he understood, but he didn't. Instead, Voldemort said the only thing he could. "You're welcome, Harry."

The boy gave him a small smile, then turned his head away to stare up at the ceiling. The utter pain he felt was visible on his face, but he seemed happy. His eyes seemed unfocused. "I see them..." Harry whispered. "Sirius...and mum and dad. They're waving. They look sad...why are they sad? I'm coming to see them..."

Tears poured freely around the room. Everyone watched Harry grow weaker and weaker with each passing second. They said nothing, as there was nothing to be said. Harry was as pale as the sheets beneath him and his breathing was labored. Voldemort knew Harry was close to dying. So very close. Harry opened his mouth slowly and muttered the last words he would ever say. "Death is but the next great adventure."

He smiled, and that was how he died. The light faded from his eyes. He looked more peaceful than anyone had ever seen him. He died with a smile on his face, just like his god father before him. Voldemort leaned over and closed his eyelids so those hauntlying green eyes would no longer stare. And, if they forgot about what they had just witnessed, well, they could almost pretend that Harry was only sleeping...


End file.
